


Heir to the Throne

by angelatflightrisk



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Royalty AU, and also they have sex, and theyre in love, ive been watching a lot of game of thrones, jaime is a prince and bart is a kitchen boy, this is porn but it has plot i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelatflightrisk/pseuds/angelatflightrisk
Summary: “You’re going to be married.”





	Heir to the Throne

**Author's Note:**

> im PROBABLY not going to add to this but i totally will if theres interest !!

He’s slight, he always has been, and that shirt is a little too big for him. It hangs loose on his shoulders, revealing a rosy galaxy of freckles that run over them, that Jaime knows from experience cover almost every inch of his snow pale skin-- his back, his arms, his cute nose and his pretty cheeks. There are even a few freckles on his pretty red lips. His auburn curls tousle so slightly with his movements, working silently, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows on his skinny arms, his hands red from the hot water, the bubbles frothing up and onto the floor around his feet. Jaime shifts just a little where he stands in the doorway, and the kitchen boy stills for a moment before he casts a look over his shoulder. His eyelashes are so black against the breathtaking green of his eyes, and his gaze holds there for a stunned silence before he scrunches his nose and turns back around. Jaime bites his lip to stifle a sigh, standing straighter.

“Is there something I can do for you, your grace?” Comes his pretty voice.

“You aren’t really upset with me?”

The boy doesn’t answer. Another clean dish finds its way onto the counter. Jaime comes forward a little more, and Bart Allen’s small shoulders tense.

“Bart--”

The boy turns around suddenly and brushes past him, not looking up, drying his wet hands against his apron as he does, and busies himself with another arbitrary task on the other counter. Jaime closes his eyes and counts, and then he turns again to face the boy.

“It isn’t my choice.”

“It isn’t mine either.”

“Don’t you think I wish it was?”

“Do you think she’s pretty?” Bart turns suddenly again, and this time he stays still. Those bright green eyes lock onto Jaime’s, and Jaime is standing close to him now, his pale and freckled hands holding onto the counter behind him, a touch of defiance on his face. Jaime takes a moment to just look at him before he reaches forward and tucks an auburn curl behind the boy’s ear.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Bart breathes, incredulously, his shoulders rising, “You’re going to be married to her.”

“Not for some time.”

“But you will be. You are the heir to your father’s throne, and when he dies you will marry her and make her queen. And you’ll make little princes and princesses with her, and perhaps they will have little affairs with their servants, and perhaps those servants will feel special for a fraction of a moment before they understand they have no place in--”

Jaime catches him by his waist as he tries to storm past him once more, presses him by his hips up against the counter. Bart braces himself on Jaime’s shoulders, huffing in a small way, tossing another fiery stare up at Jaime.

“She will be my wife,” Jaime says, quietly, “And my queen. And within reasonable assumption, the mother of my children.”

“Your grace,” The boy says quietly, coldly, his hands balling in Jaime’s noble shirt, “Let me go.”

“My heart doesn’t belong to her, my heart belongs to you,” Jaime tells him, “If you don’t know that by now, I don’t know what else I could possibly do.”

Bart stills, those green eyes finding Jaime’s and searching, a little of the fire gone now, but the doubt still evident.

“You can’t possibly intend to keep me,” Bart says, his voice quieted to a whisper, the way he used to speak when he and Jaime first started meeting, when they used to blush at the thought of each other.

“I can,” Jaime tells him, “And I do.”

“You’re going to be married.”

“I don’t care. I love you. I don’t care what title I have or what pretty noble girl stands beside me on the throne. You are my lover. Nothing changes that. Never.”

“You won’t say that when you’re married. You won’t say that when you’re in bed with that pretty noble girl.”

“Have you no faith in me, treasure?” In one motion, the prince takes him by the place on the small of his back, where his apron is tied, and twirls them so that Jaime is the one with his back pressed to the counter, and Bart is pulled to his chest with those green eyes staring up at him.

“I’ve never known you to be so pessimistic,” Jaime tells him, gentle, “That first night we made love, do you remember?”

Bart’s cheeks turn a certain sort of rose as he tilts his head down, “Remind me.”

“You laid your head on my chest and told me if the world were to end all at once, if all the kingdoms in all the worlds were to crumble, if the sky were to shatter and we were all to turn to dust, you told me you weren’t afraid because you knew that you were mine and that I was yours.”

“And are you still?” Bart’s voice is all void of fire, soft as he looks back up. Jaime pulls him closer, presses a kiss to the top of his head. He smells like vanilla and sugar and cinnamon, “Mine?”

“Of course I am. Now and always. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that.”

Bart sighs into his chest, and for a moment they stay like that. And then that pretty voice has a hint of boldness in it, the boldness that Jaime has always found so intoxicating, “...There isn’t any noble girl in your bed right now, is there?”

Jaime smiles into his curls, pulling him closer by his hips, “No, dearheart, I don’t think there is.”

“I don’t suppose you intended to sleep alone tonight, did you?”

“Quiet, now. Come on.”

Bart Allen takes him by the hand and leads him away to the prince’s bedroom. He knows the way, he’s been there countless times, and he will continue spending lovestruck nights in that room. Until the sky shatters.

It is expensively decorated-- he is the prince-- adorned in gold and ivory, everything polished. Bart closes the door behind them and turns around again, smiling brightly, his face washed in the pale moonlight coming in from the grandiose open window. It is dark and hushed, and Jaime speaks in a whisper when he pulls the pretty boy close to him and says, “Take off your clothes, I’ve missed you.”

Bart does as he is asked. He unties the apron from around his waist first, and when it falls into a heap on the floor Jaime lifts him gently by his waist and spins them away from the door, kissing at the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder as the boy shrugs out of his shirt. He sighs, a happy sound, rolling his head to the side as his arms wind around Jaime’s neck and his fingers card through his dark hair. Jaime’s hands travel upwards from his hips to his tiny waist, running his thumb along his rib before ducking his head lower and getting his mouth on the boy’s pink nipple. He makes a happy sound, almost like a purr, his hand tightening just a fraction in Jaime’s hair. He is lowered onto the bed with Jaime’s hand at the small of his back before he moves lower, kneeling on the floor before his lover and untying the knot  between his hips securing his pants. Then, he pulls the last of his clothes away and stays there with his hands on the boy’s little legs, admiring him.

He is astoundingly beautiful, and there isn’t a single time in every time they’ve been alone like this that Jaime isn’t in awe of it, of him, of his pretty pale body and his countless freckles, the way his bones poke out and his curls fall in a graceful mess over his beautiful face. He is so beautiful.

“You are beautiful,” Jaime tells him, and he huffs a small laugh, his back arching a little on the bed, his legs pulling up and his knees pressing together. Jaime’s eyes lower to the pink peeking from between his legs, gently taking his ankles and moving them for a better view.

“You are beautiful,” Jaime says again, this time nudging his knees apart so that he can lower himself down and get his mouth on him. Bart gasps, a small, sweet sound, hushed in the dark of the room, his back arching farther off the bed as Jaime presses forward. His tongue traces every inch of his pink folds, adoring the softness of him pressed up against his face, adoring the taste of him, the way his breath hitches whenever he is particularly pleased by a motion. Jaime has gotten good at this, over the years. It took practice and patience, but he knows his lover like he knows his own name, like he knows the castle he lives in, like he knows his mother’s voice. He knows what way to tilt his head to make the boy gasp, how long to simply suck on him and wait before pressing two fingers inside of him. For someone so set on instant gratification, Bart Allen responds amazingly well to being teased. He waits for a moment longer before giving the boy what he knows he wants, moving up to suck on the sensitive swell of his clit while his fingers slide inside of him. His back arches up off of the bed, and Jaime looks up through his lashes to see the beautiful sight he’s seen a million times, Bart Allen with his pale skin flushed and his pretty curls in a mess, his green eyes glazed over.

He is beautiful, and Jaime finally comes up to press kisses to his collarbone, the palm of his hand pressing up against the warmth of him as his fingers work inside him, listening to the music in his gasps and letting himself get lost in the way his lover’s fingers feel tangled in his hair.

“Jaime,” he says, breathlessly, arched up into his hand, “My love-- Ah, oh my god,”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jaime tells him, “You’re alright. I’m yours.”

Bart whines in a beautifully submissive way when Jaime bites at his neck. His hips rock into the movements of the prince’s hand.

“Do you want me inside of you?” Jaime asks him, and Bart moans outright, throwing his head back as he breathes, “Yes,” quiet as if he has no air.

Jaime takes his hand away from between his lover’s legs and the boy whines, opening his beautiful eyes to watch in a sort of dizzy haze as Jaime licks his fingers clean before pressing a strangely chaste kiss to Bart’s lips. Bart returns the kiss, his soft hands coming up sweetly, lovingly, holding Jaime’s face as the prince repositions the pair so that Bart’s legs are draped over Jaime’s hips. At this point Jaime pulls back to remove his own clothes, finally, which Bart happily watches from where he lay on the ruffled bed, his pale skin and his deep curls all washed in the moonlight.

When Jaime is finally bare, he leans in once more, one hand on Bart’s hip and the other holding himself, the tip pressed against Bart’s entrance. The proximity makes his lover squirm, just a little, a happy sound leaving him, the rise and fall of his chest a little deeper than normal. Jaime kisses along his jawline.

“I love you,” he says.

“I know,” Bart replies, winding his arms tight around his neck, “I love you, too.”

Jaime rocks his hips forward and Bart gasps, then holds his breath. Jaime feels nails digging into the nape of his neck and he bites his own lip. His lover is tight, astoundingly tight, and always has been. In all the time Jaime has been with him, that has never changed.

“It hurts,” Bart tells him, quietly, like he does every time, at first. Jaime kisses his neck, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Jaime finds his hips flush against Bart, and he stays there for a moment before rocking back, and then forward again. Bart is tense, digging his nails into Jaime’s skin and holding his breath. And then after a while his grip relaxes, and so do his shoulders, and Jaime can feel the rise of his chest against his. In a matter of minutes the boy is whining, moaning, pulling Jaime closer and closer still, his heels pressed to the small of the princes back, begging him for more.

When the prince is absolutely positive his lover is no longer in pain, he braces his forearms on either side of his head and rocks into him faster, harder, gradually, until the boy under him has his head thrown back in pleasure and is moaning, crying out in delight, beautifully flushed and perfectly desperate.

“My love--”

“I- I love you--” Bart interrupts him, pressing his forehead to his prince’s. Jaime finds himself fucking him hard, mindless, letting the sounds of his pleasure and the feeling of his tightness wrapped around him wash over him entirely.

And all in an instant, the boy has grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back. Jaime feels his back hit the pillows, gentle, breathing out a little breath of confusion before Bart is crawling on him, straddling his hips and lowering himself down onto Jaime’s cock again. The prince moans, his hands grabbing tightly at the wonderful boy’s hips as he rode, perfect from so much practice and looking like a dream with those curls bouncing.

“Tell me, your grace,” The boy says, his voice sweet and deep like warm sugary vanilla, almost like a purr, “Could a noble girl fuck you like this?”

“No,” Jaime gasps, breathless, his head swimming, and his heart full of nothing but Bart, Bart, Bart, “No, my love.”

“Does anyone know how to make you happy better than I do?” His voice is enchanting as he comes closer to nip at Jaime’s neck.

“No, dearest.”

“Does anyone love you better? Can anyone ever love you better than me?”

“No. I’m yours,” Jaime promises, “I’m yours.”

Bart seems perfectly pleased with that answer, his hips never ceasing their beautiful, heavenly motions, Jaime’s cock disappearing over and over again into his perfect, tight pussy.

“My love,” Jaime moans, pulling him closer, “I’m close. I’m so close.”

“Good,” Bart purrs, pressing his forehead up to Jaime’s, “I’m yours. All yours, forever.”

Jaime comes. He hears Bart whine above him as his back arches and his hands grip the sheets on either side of his head. All is still, and he feels Bart come off of him and press himself up beside him, those soft curls spilling onto his chest as he falls off into sleep.

 

In the morning he wakes to loud knocking on his door. He startles, sitting up straight. The boy beside him whines, sleepy, his curls a mess against the pillow, his shoulders and his neck littered with bites and kisses. 

“Your grace! Your mother the queen! She says come down at once!”

Jaime looks over at his lover, who sits up, yawning, his arms stretching above his head. He is just as beautiful in the soft light of the morning as he is in the moonlight. He stands, still naked, freckles covering his skin like stars as he lazily picks his clothes up off of the floor and puts them on. Jaime watches in something of a daze from the bed as the knocking continues relentlessly.

“Your grace! It’s about your father!”

His skin goes cold. His father is on death’s door, and when he dies, Jaime will be wed, and then he will be king. The thought makes him ill, makes him want to take a horse and run away with--

Bart, dressed now, crawls back into the bed, with no urgency about him, and presses a loving kiss to Jaime’s lips. Jaime stills, and suddenly all is right in the world once more. Bart pulls back and smiles at him, and it is okay.

“I love you,” Bart whispers, and then he leaves through the open window, as he has done countless times before. Jaime stares at the open window a while longer, and the knocking continues.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks !! my tumblr is crashtacular and i live for comments


End file.
